In the vast stretch of the universe, existence hardly matters. People like to believe they do, but they don't. We're all just moving meat and memories trying not to die. Strip away the banners, the speeches, the excuses, and what's left is self-preservation. Strong enough to make someone kill a stranger, a friend, even a lover if it means staying alive one more day.
So what does my death mean?
If I'd survived, would someone else have died instead? Was there a trade? Or was it just one more life flicking out in the dark?
If I'd stayed home that day, would I still be here? Would she? That girl in my dreams. Did she get the life she wanted? Did she take the throne she clawed toward?
Her name burns behind my eyes: Artemesia.
Her name resounded in my mind with clarity. Artemesia is a bright girl, but downright naive. She thinks she's better than everyone, but she's really not. Holed up in her mansion, her wisdom is confined to the pages of her books and the knowledge of her tutors. How can someone like her wish for a throne so far out of reach?
But she's alive. Alive. Very much so.
If I get another chance — if this isn't just the dying spark of a dream — I want to see her. The genius child of House Silveria. The girl who wanted to burn an empire for a kingdom, for a family, for a future. But I don't think she even has friends. I want to know what she wants. Power? Fame? Riches? Because a throne made of ashes won't give her any of that. All it gives is infamy.
These thoughts flow like a current, unspooling without my permission. And then—Wait.
What am I doing?Where am I?
I open my eyes — eyes I thought I'd lost forever — and a stretch of night sky swallows my vision. Two moons hang there, watching. One swollen and orange, almost as big as my fist; the other pale white, half its size.
Where?Where the hell am I?